Sculpt a Murder

by Lily Ashton

  Alice spun around. She dropped onto one knee and grabbed a leg of the dressing table. She squinted at the tread. The boot. Steadying herself, she rose and took her mobile from her pocket. Switching on the torch, Alice took a half-step and ran the beam over the boot. It was attached to a leg. Which was attached to a body. Which was very still. Indeed.

  Alice held the phone at her shoulder and the light shone wide enough to make out the features.

  Jeremy Evans.

  Chapter 9

  As far as Joe Buchanan was concerned, Alice was the untidiest person on the planet. He repeatedly said as much. Alice tried hard to be tidy, but she had not yet found a reason to doubt Joe’s assessment. Until she walked into Daisy’s saloon.

  Shirts hung over the curtain rail. CDs, separated from their cases, covered the sofa. Takeaway cartons spilled over the bin to the floor, the drainer was stacked with dirty crockery. Alice did not remember Christian being so untidy when they were children.

  She opened a cupboard in the kitchen to get a broom. As she went to close the door, her hand brushed against a corkboard tucked between the wall and a vacuum cleaner. Alice had used the board for her previous investigation. Thinking she should be tidy for once, she had pinned her notes onto what she called her incident board. And it had helped her to see all the information graphically presented in one place. It worked then, it could work again.

  Alice cleared the sideboard and propped up the board, brushing off the cobwebs that clung to the cork. She reached for her laptop case and took out two photos. She pinned Nick Carberry’s head and shoulders at the top of the board and a picture of Simon Newgate beneath it. An image of Jeremy Evans flashed through her mind. Alice had no doubt that the gardener had been murdered too. And just feet from where Nick had died. Alice did not have a picture of Jeremy to hand, so she drew a quick sketch, wrote Jeremy’s name underneath it and pinned it alongside Nick on the board.

  Two victims.

  The hatch door clicked open and Christian lumbered down the companionway, bulging plastic bags in both hands.

  “Don’t bother clearing up the mess, Ally, I’m just about to sort it.”

  Alice put her hands on her hips. “Just so you know, I wasn’t going to clear it up.”

  Christian appeared not to notice. He dropped bulging bags on the floor and took off his jacket.

  “I’ve invited Devi over for dinner this evening. I’m doing an English. She told me that people always take her to Indian restaurants when she’s here, so she never gets to eat popular local dishes.”

  “And you’re cooking …”

  “Spaghetti Bolognese.” Christian took some dirty mugs from the sink, turned on the taps and rolled up his sleeves.

  “And that would be the English version of the Italian spaghetti Bolognese, I assume?” Alice picked up a tea-towel.

  “I said popular local food. And we’re all Italian now.”

  “But Devi’s Hindu isn’t she, so she can’t eat beef?”

  “She’s vegetarian so I’m using Quorn. I make a good veggie sauce, if I say so myself. And I’m doing trifle for dessert which is English.”

  “I thought you didn’t like cooking.”

  “I used to hate it. When I first moved in with Jasmine, she cooked so I didn’t have to. But when she started working late in the evenings and I got bored with sandwiches, I learned to cook for myself. I was surprised to find that I really enjoyed it.”

  Alice looked at the empty cartons from Livvie’s café on the floor.

  “It seems you decided to take a cooking break here?”

  “With Livvie’s great food and the café so close, why would you ever cook yourself?”

  “That’s my excuse, too.”

  Brother and sister matched CDs to cases and cleared debris from the furniture. Alice sat down while Christian unpacked his shopping. He opened a bottle of red wine and poured two glasses.

  “Salut.” He handed a glass to Alice.

  “Cheers.”

  Roddy rapped on the hatch door and crossed the saloon to collect the glass Christian offered him. On the way, he saw Alice’s corkboard.

  “Dear girl, do I detect the makings of another incident room?”

  “Incident room?” Christian tapped Nick Carberry’s picture. “Into Nick’s death? I’m intrigued. But why are you doing the investigation and not the police?”

  “A very good question,” said Roddy. “And the answer is, that your sister is so good at it.”

  “Ably assisted by one Mr Roddy Rafferty I might add.”

  “And you should add,” said Roddy.

  Alice wriggled to the front of the sofa and put her glass on the coffee table.

  “Not just Nick,” she said, “but Jeremy too. That pathetic drawing of mine – is supposed to be Jeremy. They were both murdered at Renton Hall and if the killer isn’t found soon, Eleanor can forget about bookings for the hotel.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Roddy. “There are plenty of people who would find that kind of notoriety appealing.”

  “Plus, I’m working there all day and I don’t want to be the next victim.”

  Christian put a hand to his mouth. “You don’t actually think someone is after you?” He turned to the board. “Though they will be, once they find out you’re doing this. And what about Devi? Do you really think this investigation thing is a good idea?”

  “The sooner the culprit is found, the safer we’ll all be.”

  Alice noticed her brother’s troubled expression and decided to drop the murder conversation. She moved away from the board and sat down on the beanbag beside the coffee table. Roddy squatted beside her and opened the sketchbook he had brought with him.

  “If I may change the subject for a moment,” said Roddy, “I would like your opinions on some ideas for my exhibition. They’re not worked up properly – some are just a few lines – but there’s enough to give you an idea of what the finished work will look like.” He opened the sketchbook and pushed it across to Alice. “Be honest. On second thoughts, be kind.”

  Christian knelt beside Alice and they examined the pencil drawings. The little humpback bridge lacked detail but was instantly recognisable. As was the river scene near The Shepherdess pub. Less familiar was a stretch of river with an empty bench in the foreground and the base of a big oak tree to the side. It occurred to Alice how poignant a few pencil lines could be.

  “Where is this, Roddy?”

  “In my imagination! That one’s more of a concept piece.”

  “I love it. It’s very moving. Will you paint it in oil?”

  “I don’t really have time to finish many oils so this will be a watercolour.”

  Alice looked up at Roddy. “Interesting. I don’t think I’ve seen any of your watercolours before.”

  “That’s because I’ve barely done any. I hope I’m not being too ambitious. If I can’t master the techniques, half the show will be terrible.”

  “I’m sure you won’t have too many problems. Besides, these sketches are lovely, you could always use some of them.”

  Roddy beamed. “What a good idea. A couple of sketches would bring variety. I was worried that a monotheme might be dull.”

  There was a buzz from Christian’s mobile. “Oh my God, I should at least have made my trifle by now!” Christian turned off his alarm and shot up.

  “I’ll help you,” said Alice. “What time is Devi due?”

  “Soon.”

  “Ah, a romantic dinner for two,” said Roddy. “In which case, allow me to assist.”

  Devi insisted that Alice and Roddy stay for dinner. What would be the point of them being alone in separate empty homes, when they could all spend the evening together? And there was plenty of food. Christian scowled at Alice behind Devi’s back. But despite Alice’s half-hearted attempt to leave, Devi wou
ld not be moved. She was not going to turf anyone out, especially family.

  Alice enjoyed the meal – Christian had done well to whip something up so quickly. Her own cooking skills were legendarily bad, indeed non-existent according to Joe. For some reason, he didn’t count heating up prepared meals as cooking … Alice had promised that she would improve. Joe had even offered to teach her and he was an excellent cook. But all that peeling and chopping. And that was on top of reading and understanding the recipe. For goodness sake, how was Alice to know that sautéed potatoes had nothing to do with salted ones?

  Devi loved the food, especially the trifle which reminded her of a dessert her mother used to make. Christian took Devi’s praise with an enormous smile and gushing thanks. Though he grew increasingly impatient with the lavish attention Roddy got from his special guest.

  Devi was fascinated by Roddy’s sketches. As fellow artists, albeit in different disciplines, the pair had a lively discussion on techniques and the value of practice. Many hours in Devi’s case and almost none in Roddy’s. They talked about their latest projects and Devi outlined the story and songs of The Sunny Girl sequel that she would begin shooting next year.

  Roddy had never seen a Bollywood musical. Christian found a clip of one of Devi’s dance numbers on YouTube and they watched it on Alice’s laptop.

  “That’s marvellous,” said Roddy. “So energetic. But so complicated. I don’t know how you remember all those moves, Devi.”

  Devi tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Actually, it’s not that hard. The backing dancers do sequences like that all the time. We learnt that routine in two days.”

  “You are joking, of course.”

  “No, many of the steps repeat. And as this is a fast number you don’t notice that I made a couple of mistakes.”

  “But you’re so graceful,” said Alice. “I wish I could move like that.”

  “Here, I’ll teach you.” Devi jumped up and stood in the centre of the saloon. “Come and stand next to me.”

  Neither Alice nor Roddy needed asking twice.

  “Both arms to the left and step to the right. Shake both shoulders.” Devi demonstrated. “Jump to your left and thrust out your hips. One, two.”

  Alice jumped to her right and banged into the coffee table.

  “Let’s move the furniture and we’ll all do it together.”

  They moved the sofa and coffee table against the wall and Devi pushed the beanbag into the corner. She organised Alice, Roddy and a reluctant Christian into a line and they did the movements again.

  “Not bad for a first attempt. Let’s give it another go.” Devi stepped in front of the others. “This time I’ll be out front, so you can follow me.”

  If only. Alice jumped, swayed and shook. Just not in the right order. Roddy swore that he was born to “Bollywood dance”. Christian and Alice agreed they were both hopeless, preferring their dance moves confined to darkened places.

  Devi was picking up a cushion from the floor when she spotted Alice’s incident board. “I see you’ve started your investigation into Nick and Jeremy’s murders.”

  Alice held up her hands. “It’s not what you think.”

  “You don’t have to pretend, Alice. Eleanor told me she’d asked you to investigate Nick’s murder.” Devi put a finger on her chin. “I see you have Simon Newgate down as the suspect.”

  “Well …” Alice felt herself blush. “I’m keeping an open mind, but it does seem that Simon has a motive. He wanted to get Nick out of the way so that he could run the business himself.”

  A frown clouded Devi’s beautiful face. “Perhaps, but if it were me, I’d have Harry Horton’s picture up there.”

  “But he’s Nick’s cousin. And from what I’ve heard, they got on really well.”

  Devi sat on the arm of the sofa. “They did get on well. But Harry was jealous of Nick and jealousy pushes people to do extreme things.”

  Alice could not imagine Harry Horton doing anything extreme. Devi must have noticed Alice’s puzzled expression.

  “I can see you’re not sure, so meet me tomorrow and I’ll tell you more about Harry.”

  Christian poured himself another glass of wine and leant against the counter. “I admire your enthusiasm ladies,” he said. “But you should leave all this to the police. They will catch the killer without your help.”

  Alice glanced from Roddy to Devi to Christian.

  “Nick and Jeremy were both murdered at Renton Hall while we were there. I’ve got to find out who did it, or the next victim could be one of us.”

  Chapter 10

  It was only after Alice threatened to throw him out that Christian agreed to vacate Alice’s bed and sleep on the sofa. It was well after midnight before Devi and Roddy left and Alice was too tired for one of Christian’s strops. Christian had spent the end of the evening sulking. He had watched his dinner date laugh with Roddy and Alice as they swapped stories of difficult artists they had worked with. They had finished off their meal with coffee and followed that with something of a singalong session over the washing-up.

  At first, Alice had been sympathetic. She and Roddy had ruined Christian’s planned intimate dinner with Devi. But did Christian really think that he was at the beginning of a magical relationship with this famous Bollywood star? This was not Notting Hill!

  Christian probably thought Alice was being harsh, but she was only thinking of her brother. He would be upset when Devi went back to Mumbai and her own life as a movie star, without him. And besides, Devi appeared unruffled by her boyfriend’s recent demise; something Alice thought did not bode well on the relationship front.

  Alice loved her brother, but sometimes she felt that she hardly knew him. In some ways that was literally true, as they had spent the majority of their adult lives miles apart. They messaged each other sporadically and had occasional chats on the phone, but they only saw each other a couple of times a year. Alice enjoyed the time they did have together, always feeling a pang when they parted.

  But she did not know Christian’s habits any more. The opinions that annoyed him, the words that wound him up. And last night she had found out that brutal honesty upset him very much indeed.

  Alice had slept badly. She pulled back the curtains and watched the first hazy morning rays peek above the horizon. When the cabin grew lighter, she got up and took a long shower. She dressed in navy trousers and a pale blue striped t-shirt.

  Alice put her ear against the saloon door. There was no movement from the other side. It was not yet eight o’clock, so she tidied the cabin and Christian’s paraphernalia in the bathroom, until there was nothing else left to straighten. She opened the door.

  Christian was standing by the counter, fully dressed and looking out the window. Bedding was piled on the sofa just as Alice had left it the night before.

  “Good morning, did you sleep okay?”

  Christian turned sharply. “No, I didn’t. How could I sleep after what you said to me?”

  Alice knelt on the sofa, both elbows on the arm. “I’m sorry if I upset you—”

  “Upset me!? Upset doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel. You dare to tell me that I’m not good enough for Devi. How could you be so cruel?”

  “Calm down, Christian.”

  “Calm down? Is it too much to expect my own sister to be supportive?” Christian held onto the windowsill, as if to prevent his anger from pushing him out.

  “All I was saying, was that you shouldn’t get your hopes up. And anyway, I hardly know Devi.”

  “Exactly. So how do you know if our relationship can last or not?”

  “How can you? You don’t know her any better than I do. I was only trying to point out the reality of your situation. But look, I don’t mean to interfere and I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

  “Hmm.” Christian released the windowsill, gave Alice a poin
ted glare and walked across the saloon and into the cabin. He slammed the door behind him.

  Alice made herself coffee and opened her inbox with trepidation. Whilst she was enjoying freedom from company rules and regulations, freelancing came with its own set of anxieties. Most importantly, where the next pay cheque was coming from.

  Alice was surprised at how much of her time she was spending chasing new business. She was always sending out proposals and quotes to prospective clients, most of whom did not even bother to acknowledge them. Should she pencil in dates for work that might not materialise? If she did, she would not be available when somebody actually accepted her quote.

  The Renton Hall job would take her to the hotel opening in September, but the rest of Alice’s diary was filled with pencil marks. She needed to convert some of those potential clients into real ones.

  Alice leant back on the beanbag, diary in hand. Two of the jobs looked more promising than the others. A couple who had just moved into a house on the outskirts of Great Wheaton wanted help to hang their art collection. They wouldn’t be ready for a month or so, however. A new pizza restaurant in the town centre was opening in a couple of weeks and the owner had asked Alice to hang some photos. She had not received a response to her quote, so it was time to pay him a visit.

  Cows grazed at the water’s edge on the opposite side of the river, as Mr and Mrs Swan glided past. Alice waved at Livvie through The Coffee Pot’s window and continued along Sam’s Lane. At the end she veered off through an alleyway and onto the high street.

  Outside the new pizza restaurant, a man was standing at the top of a stepladder pulling on a rope, an oblong box attached to the other end. Emilio’s Pizza, in solid red letters, blasted out of the sign. His colleagues below inched the box this way and that at his instructions, faces straining with the effort. Alice went inside, where the owner, a short man with a bald head and a piercing voice, directed another team. This one was measuring up for shelves.

  “What do you think of the place so far, Alice?” said Emilio Gambi.